


Denial

by Anonymous



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29927307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In which Joe denies his feelings for Chuck until he can't anymore.
Relationships: Charles Grant/Joseph Liebgott
Kudos: 5
Collections: Heavy Artillery Rare Pair Exchange 2021





	Denial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [veraclaythorne39](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=veraclaythorne39).



> Hi everyone!
> 
> This fic was written for the Heavy Artillery Rare Pair Exchange of 2021. It was written for veraclaythorne39, and I chose the prompt "Liebgott/Grant - anything!!". It's quite angsty and not the most romantic thing in the world because Joe is an idiot, but it does have a happy ending haha
> 
> A little warning for mild sexual content. It's actually the first time I've even featured the slightest bit of (light) smut, but as per your DNWs, I kept it light, and I hope it is light enough for you. :) And of course, I hope you like the whole story!
> 
> A little disclaimer too: this was inspired by the portrayals of the actors of the TV show, not the real men, for whom I have the utmost respect. I mean no disrespect to anyone.

It’s the day they earn their jump wings, and Joe’s not as sober as he would like to be. He doesn’t even understand why because it’s just beer, Jesus, but when he makes for the barracks, he’s not walking straight.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and tries to blink away the dizziness he feels creeping up inside him.

“Hey, Joe!”

He turns around and takes a deep breath in, trying to steady himself. Grant. He remembers him walking up to Colonel Sink that evening, to give him a beer, and he also distantly remembers his voice and the way it secretly made him feel warmer.

“What are you doin’?”

Joe stares at the other man, not answering that stupid question. It’s pretty obvious what he’s doing. When Grant just looks back, one of his eyebrows raised questioningly, he sighs and finally answers, “Tryin’ to get some peace. Be alone, ya know.”

He doesn’t even mean it like anything sexual, but he can tell by the way Grant’s eyes widen and his jaw falls open that his mind immediately jumps to that conclusion. He curses inwardly and says aloud, “Not like that!”

Grant relaxes visibly and smiles sheepishly, his tanned cheeks reddening visibly even in the dark.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mumbles. “Guess I’ll just… leave you to your walk then.” He makes to walk away, but Joe shakes his head.

“You can stay. To… get away from the noise, ya know.”

Grant smiles, and it’s softer now, not sheepish anymore, and there’s that warm feeling spreading inside Joe’s chest again. He makes sure his face stays an unreadable mask, and then walks away from the blonde man, admonishing himself because he shouldn’t be caring if he follows him or not.

A few seconds later, he hears footsteps behind him and just knows it’s Grant, and he wonders idly just when he’s started to recognize the man at the sound of him walking. He pushes that thought out of his mind and slows down enough that Grant can catch up with him.

He doesn’t know where they’re headed, doesn’t really care. They don’t speak to each other, and it doesn’t bother him either. He’s never been much of a talker.

“Sorry about earlier.”

“You already said that, Grant. Don’t need to apologize twice, I already got it the first time.” He doesn’t mean to sound so aggressive, but Grant’s steps falter and Joe sighs and tries to make amends. “Yeah, okay. Apology accepted. But just so you know, not my fault your mind’s in the gutter like that.” And he smirks pointedly.

“It’s not!” Grant protests, but when he spares Joe a glance, he sees his smile and grins back. “Okay, maybe it is a little. But you’re probably worse off than me.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Joe falls silent again, and he slows down, almost imperceptibly. They’re farther away from the camp than he’d first thought. And they’re still walking. And he thinks that it’s dangerous, that maybe Grant spoke up because he’s getting uncomfortable, and his thoughts are racing and his fists clench with tension.

But no. Grant looks comfortable enough, he’s even gazing up at the night sky. Joe forces himself to relax and  _ not _ notice how the moonlight creates shadows on his blonde hair. He shouldn’t think about such things, he admonishes himself, and slows down even more.

Grant notices this time around. He looks back at him and quirks an eyebrow.

And Joe tells him the truth. “We’re far from the barracks.”

“Yeah, isn’t that the purpose of taking a walk?”

He winces at Grant’s answer. Of course he’s right, and Joe shouldn’t be embarrassed like he is right now, but he can’t help it. He nods but still says, “I’m gonna head back now.”

“Suit yourself.” Grant shrugs and nods to him to say goodbye, and Joe almost lets himself there’s something like disappointment in his voice and in his eyes. And that’s why he stays back, and Grant continues to look at him with a frown slowly appearing between his brows.

Joe fidgets in place, and then what was confusion morphs into worry painted all over Grant’s face. “You okay there, Joe?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, and thinks himself a coward because if he’s to stay here, he should at least do something and not just stand here fidgeting like a fucking idiot.

“Then why are you still here?”

It’s an innocent enough question, but Joe somehow feels threatened by it. And as always when he feels threatened, he snaps, “What does it matter?”

Grant shrugs and answers good-naturedly, “It’s just that it looks like you’re trying to run away from me. And I’d like to know why.” When Joe doesn’t answer and just grinds his teeth together, Grant continues, “Was it ‘cause of what happened earlier?”

“No, course not!” Joe protests vehemently, and realizes his mistake just seconds later. He’s glad he’s partly obscured in shadows, because he’s pretty sure he can feel his face heat up with mortification.

“It wouldn't even be a big deal if you wanted to do it, you know. I mean, I get it, guys just need to… let go sometimes, and it's not a crime.”

Joe wants to tell him that that's not the problem—the problem is that he would probably be thinking about Grant and the weird feeling that had blossomed in his chest earlier that night, hearing Grant's voice, and it definitely wasn't something a guy should think of while jerking off. He's supposed to be thinking about girls and soft breasts pressed against him and soft lips under his own, and… 

He snaps away from this train of thoughts and refocuses on Grant's face. He is studying Joe carefully, probably understanding that he's treading on thin ice with that subject.

“Yeah,” Joe simply answers, albeit belatedly. “I know.”

Grant crosses his arms and doesn't stop staring at him. It's almost like he can read his mind, and Joe looks away before he can see anything compromising in his eyes.

“I'm really gonna head back now,” he says softly, and Grant hums in reply.

Joe turns around and starts walking away, but barely a few seconds later, he feels a strong hand wrapping around one of his thin wrists, and he's being turned around again.

And Grant is close.  _ Very _ close. So close it almost looks like he's going to kiss him. And then he leans in, slowly, like he's giving him enough time to walk away, and Joe just knows that he's really going to do it. And he  _ should _ step away, should stop this before it happens because what if someone comes up, what if they're seen, but he doesn't because that warm feeling is spreading in his chest again. And he's pretty sure he can't blame the beer this time.

When Grant's lips press against his own, it's so different from what he expected—if he really ever expected anything. They're soft enough, and there's no stubble scratching his skin. He'd expected something… rougher.

And so he's the one to deepen the kiss, the first to moan in the back of his throat. Grant's fingers tighten on his shoulders. Joe feels himself reacting to it in ways that he definitely shouldn't be, and that's when he pulls away and pushes Grant back as gently as he can. Grant doesn't fight him, points to him for that, and just gazes at him with something akin to awe. Joe wants to hate that look, because goddammit, why is he looking at him like that, but instead his lips quirk up a little.

There’s a question in Grant’s eyes, and Joe hesitates because he knows if he goes down that road, he might not be able to stop. He’s like that about everything—passionate, and unwilling to stop doing the things that he loves the most. And if he’s honest with himself, he could keep kissing Grant for hours on end and it wouldn’t bother him because he  _ loves _ it.

A small part of his mind tells him:  _ What the hell are you waiting for then? What comes next should be even better! _ And another tells him to stop, to just walk away while he still can.

He must really look torn, because Grant shrugs and smiles good-naturedly, and perhaps a little shily too. “It’s okay, you know. I probably shouldn’t have k—” He stops talking when Joe grabs him by a wrist and pulls him towards the trees, which are not so far away. Joe hopes it will be a good enough cover for whatever it is Grant wants to do—because for once, he won’t be taking the lead. Not when he doesn’t have any idea of what he’s doing. He just knows he’s willing to try, and damn Grant and his smile, they’re probably the reasons that made him change his mind.

He lets out a huffed breath when his back abruptly collides with a tree, and he tries not to smile when Grant quickly whispers an apology. But then Grant looks at him with all the seriousness in the world, and he doesn’t want to smile anymore.

“You sure?”

And because Joe doesn’t want to change his mind, he decides to shut him up by kissing him. Better than telling him off. It starts hurriedly this time, not as gently as when Grant had first kissed him, but then Joe feels one of Grant’s hands sliding down his front and when it stops on his waist, Joe takes a sharp inhale, and it’s all it takes for the other man to take control of the kiss.

Except it doesn’t last long, for a few seconds later, Grant is trailing kisses down his neck, and Joe bites his lips, both to keep a moan out (why the hell does it feel so good?) and to keep from cursing him, because Grant shouldn’t be doing this, he should just hurry the fuck up, but then the hand that was on his waist unbuttons his pants, slips in and closes around him, and Joe hisses a quiet “Fuck”.

It’s different than when he touches himself, or when a girl back home would do it. Grant’s hand is callused, and it moves assuredly, and Joe thinks he’s about to die because there’s no way in hell that this can feel so good, and with Grant’s lips pressed on the side of his jaw, it’s all too much.

He can feel his muscles tighten, and he grips Grant’s shoulders tighter and inhales sharply when he comes. And then he rests his forehead on Grant’s shoulder in one of the only moments of weakness he’ll ever allow himself and exhales a soft “Jesus, Chuck.”

He feels him laugh and button him up again, and then Grant—or is it Chuck now?—steps back and crouches down to clean his hand on the short blades of grass. And that makes Joe snap out of his haze and straighten his back.

He’s trying to think of something to say, and the first thing that crosses his mind is, “Are you gonna be okay?”

Chuck—it  _ is _ Chuck, he likes the sound of it more—looks up and smiles at him reassuringly. “Yeah, I’ll be just fine,” he says, but it makes Joe’s skin prickle because he’s not the only one supposed to be enjoying it. Grant notices his discomfort, apparently, because he shakes his head and clarifies, “You don’t need to do anything you don’t wanna do. I’ll be fine.”

Joe tries not to appear too relieved at that, but he has a feeling he fails immensely. “Okay,” he agrees, and straightens his uniform.

He doesn’t miss the almost disappointed look that crosses the other man’s face, but turns around anyway and hurries back to camp, trying not to think of the consequences of his actions and hoping, desperately hoping, that no one saw them.

.:.

They don’t do it again. For the whole course of the war, all Joe does about Chuck is avoid him. He doesn’t miss the fact that Grant’s hurt by his behavior, but he needs to understand that their… thing was a mistake. Joe’s realized it since the moment he walked away from Chuck.

He thinks he can keep doing it, even though Chuck tries to talk to him again and again, tries to check up on him when he’s wounded in the neck by that bullet (and Joe tries to forget the fact that Chuck’s lips had been pressed to the exact same spot that day).

And then everything changes. He’s asleep when his door bangs open and he starts awake and reaches for his rifle, and then he hears his name, “Joe!”

“What the hell, Luz? You don’t go around waking p—” And then he cuts himself off, because he can see that Luz is unusually quiet and he squints at him.”

“It’s Chuck.”

Just two words. It’s strange, really, Joe thinks afterward, how two words can change everything.

“He’s been shot,” Luz continues, and his voice is quiet, aloof, and it’s so rare coming from him that Joe just knows it’s not some kind of stupid joke. “Doc and Captain Speirs are with him, but—” He trails off, and Joe doesn’t need to hear it to understand. Luz is scared, and now he is too.

“Where?” he asks tensely.

“The hospital, I think. But Speirs sent us after the bastard who did it. If you—”

Joe is on his feet before Luz can finish his sentence, and the smaller man just shrugs and tries to lighten the atmosphere with a small, “Guess you do wanna join in.” It doesn’t work. Joe is already out the door.

When they do find the asshole who shot Chuck, Joe makes sure he gets more than one punch in. In fact, he wants to kill him. He wants to take the gun from Speirs’s hand and just shoot him on sight, and yet he doesn’t. Probably because he knows exactly why Speirs didn’t kill him. Chuck’s going to live, and Joe is going to get to see him again.

“Sir?” When he calls out to Captain Speirs, Joe’s voice is more shaky than he would like, because he can’t believe what he’s about to do.

“Liebgott?” Speirs sounds tired.

“I was wondering if I could go see Ch—Sergeant Grant, sir.”

“Yes.” The response is immediate and quite assertive, and it’s not Joe’s place to question the words of his superior officer, but still, his eyebrows involuntarily rise in surprise. “The doctor said it could help him. To listen to people. He said he might be able to hear us.” Joe’s even more surprised that Speirs feels the need to justify himself, but he controls himself this time, just hums quite informally before he remembers who it is he’s standing in front of.

Speirs doesn’t look like he’s going to shoot him on sight though, so the tension leaves Joe’s shoulders and he salutes, before quickly moving away and towards the hospital.

When he finally stops in front of Chuck’s hospital bed, he looks at him and the first thing that crosses his mind is, again,  _ I’m going to kill that bastard _ . Except he knows he can’t, so he just stays there until he has the presence of mind to check if anyone is around. Not so surprisingly, since the Kraut doctor had been the only one in the ward when he’d come in and had immediately gotten out, there’s no one around.

And so Joe just drags a wooden chair to the side of the bed and sits down. His fingers start tapping nervously on his knee, and then he just pulls himself together and grabs a hold of Chuck’s hand in his. His fingers brush against the tanned skin and he whispers, “Fuck. I’m sorry, Chuck.”

He inhales deeply, and then forces himself to continue, “I did a lotta shitty things to you. The way I left that day, and the way I behaved ever since… Fuck, that was awful, and I don’t even know why you kept looking at me and… and liking me, ‘cause God knows I don’t deserve it. But ya know, I was so scared. I’m not—” He stops to think of something good to say, and finds strictly nothing, because there’s no way he can make the truth better. So he starts speaking again in the smallest of whispers, “I’m not queer. Back home, I like—liked girls. But then it was the party and I was drunk and your voice just… did things to me. Christ, probably not the best way to put it.”

He lets out a small laugh at that and stops. He focuses on the pattern of his fingers on Chuck’s hand and gathers himself enough to continue without flushing (flushing, Jesus, he doesn’t flush and there’s no one around to see him, so why the fuck is he flushing?).

“And then you kissed me, and you touched me, and I loved every second of it. That’s why I didn’t want anything to do with you after that. I was scared that I’d just… get lost in it. I convinced myself of that, and now you’re here and… I don’t know why I did that. I just want you back, okay? I—Please, if you can hear me, come back.” As an afterthought, he adds with a breathless laugh, “And I don’t say ‘please’ very often.”

Chuck doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t open the eye that Joe can see through the bandages. And after another sigh and a squeeze of his hand, Joe just leaves.

.:.

They’re back home now. Have been for a year, and Joe is all alone. He doesn’t write to any of the other guys, doesn’t seek them out, doesn’t inquire about their health. It’s stupid, and he knows that. He loves them, he really does. He just wants to forget first.

When he receives a letter from Skinny (how the hell did he find his address in the first place?), Joe reads it though. It’s about Grant. He wonders why he’s the one to warn him that Chuck is up and about again, almost without sequels except a stutter and limited movements on his left side. He simply writes a quick thank you, and doesn’t expect to receive anything in return. He doesn’t.

That’s why he’s surprised when he hears the knock on his door a few months later. He’s not expecting anyone.

He’s even more shocked when he opens the door and sees Chuck standing awkwardly in the doorway, next to a small suitcase. Joe’s mouth falls open when Chuck smiles lopsidedly and greets him with a gentle, “Hi, Joe.”

“What—What are you doing here?” Joe finally lets out.

Chuck just clears his throat and looks pointedly at the small apartment behind Joe, and finally, he gets it and steps aside to let the blonde man in.

“You look well,” Joe says after he’s closed the door. Probably not the best thing to say, a little bit too formal, but Chuck doesn’t seem to mind and simply grins again. Apparently, he can see that Joe means every word in it. Because it’s the truth. There’s a scar on his left temple that disappears into his hairline, but except for that and the quite stiff look of his left arm, he looks just the same.

“You look good too.”

Joe’s not quite sure about that, but he lets it slide, mainly because he wants to go back to the reason why Chuck’s here. He doesn’t need to ask again though, because Grant’s serious again when he informs him that Skinny gave him his address.

“I’m sorry f—for not warning you,” Chuck apologizes then. “The journey’s not that long and if you want me to go, I—I will. I just—I just wanted to tell you something that’s b—been on my mind since I woke up.”

It’s not like him to stutter, but Joe pays it no mind because he knows exactly why he’s stuttering, and he’s not about to call him out on that. He just gestures to a chair and Chuck sits down heavily, Joe in front of him.

“The other guys came to t—talk to me.”

“I know. Speirs told us we should.” He realizes his mistake just when the words escape his mouth, and he’s about to correct himself when Chuck’s next words cut him off.

“I heard you,” he says, and as simply as that, Joe’s life changes again. Except that this time, he’s not sure he hates it as much as the first. It’s quite the opposite, actually. He’s pretty sure he’s going to love every moment of it.


End file.
